With all that has happened...........................

 ................it's seems a lifetime crammed into the past year, when I've had neither the enthusiasm or the inclination to blog. 

After all, it's been a year of almost total isolation, with only the shortest of breaks last midsummer. Sadly, the rate of infection over Christmas 2020 was so high, we were locked down again, unable to see either friends or relations. 

We lost friends and family. First to pass was one of my work colleagues from overseas - dead from Covid and less than 30 years old. Then one of my friends who was Indian by birth, but who had married and become a Canadian citizen, had to return to Mumbai to deal with his father's affairs after losing him to Covid. Vijay walked out of Mumbai airport, was hit by a truck and killed.

The next was my darling Uncle Rex. He was in his 90s and suffering from dementia. He had a fall at home and was hospitalized so that they could monitor him. Sadly, in hospital, he caught Covid and died.

 SO ENOUGH OF YOUR ANTI-VAX NONSENSE. AND DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THIS VIRUS IS A HOAX

Finally, one of our closest friends died of leukemia a few weeks ago. 

Then my daughter-in-laws father - maybe best not spoken about here.............

All this, plus isolation and not going out, has taken its' toll on my mental health. I badly needed a restorative trip away on my own this year. Sadly, that won't be allowed to happen. 

So forgive me if I'm not my usual positive self, and if I don't want to write or do anything much at the moment, except crawl into a dark corner somewhere, alone............................

Random jokes and amusing musings

 Legend has it that Fred Astaire opened the oven door once and his treacle sponge exploded...

He had pudding on his top hat, pudding on his white tie and pudding on his tails.................................. and I bet you sang that in your head

does anyone know what it was that the knights in white sat in?

Future Poet Laureate.....

 There's a 15 year old boy in Worcestershire, called Josh Dyer, and I'm a huge fan. He has a couple of poems entered in the Worcestershire Young Poet Laureate of the Year 2020 competition, and I can see him becoming a future British Poet Laureate.

This first one is for Remembrance, and is called ' One Thousand Men Are Walking'

One thousand men are walking
Walking side by side
Singing songs from home
The spirit as their guide
they walk toward the light milord
they walk towards the sun
they smoke and laugh and smile together
No foes to outrun
these men live on forever
in the hearts of those they saved
a nation truly grateful
for the path of peace they paved
they march as friends and comrades
but they do not march for war
step closer to salvation
a tranquil steady corps
the meadows lit with golden beams
a beacon for the brave
the emerald grass untrampled
a reward for what they gave
they dream of those they left behind
and know they dream of them
forever in those poppy fields
there walks one thousand men

isn't it great? For a young man to be so thoughtful and appreciative!

This second one, for me, is even more remarkable. He seems to really understand how dementia is for people. Perhaps his Grandmother is a sufferer, I don't know. But I find this one so beautiful, and so, so moving. It's called 'An Identity For Someone Who's Forgotten Theirs'

Her face is an ancient tapestry
Bleached by suns now dead and old
Her mind like a pond held stagnancy
Now that time had taken a hold
Her name to her was meaningless
Though it was spoken in motherly tone
Of course by now she was motherless
Of course by now she’s alone
Not alone in a sense of person for
She was packed in with them like mosaic
To sit and watch flowers forever more
Whilst the new ones became the archaic
It’s funny to say she was young once
That once there was youth in her heart
She made every decision with impatience
She cried ‘Romeo,Romeo,Wherefore art?’
Of course those days are gone now
Like the stars that once touched her face
But sometimes on a quiet summer sundown
The seams of time begin to unlace
As she smiles with that ageless rhapsody
I heard tales she should know to have told
I try to maintain her life like a tapestry
Now that time has taken a hold

I don't know what the future holds in store for young Josh; but whatever it is, I hope it's good. He has a lot to teach us about humility, respect and remembrance

Music with a meaning

You may have realised by now, that every now and then, I struggle with my feelings, and struggle with trying to explain to other people how I feel. When it gets bad, I find that other people, especially musicians, can express it better than I can. Sometimes, it's not even a singer or band I particularly like. It doesn't have to be. All they have to do is feel the way I'm feeling now



And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't wanna go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
When sooner or later it's over
I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

Betjeman and Oscar Wilde

Loving the works of both Wilde and Betjeman as I do, it seemed only too appropriate to add this poem to my favourites

The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel (1937)

John Betjeman

On 6 April 1895, Oscar Wilde was arrested at the Cadogan Hotel, London, after losing a libel case against the Marquess of Queensberry.

He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer
As he gazed at the London skies
Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains
Or was it his bees-winged eyes?

To the right and before him Pont Street
Did tower in her new built red,
As hard as the morning gaslight
That shone on his unmade bed,

“I want some more hock in my seltzer,
And Robbie, please give me your hand —
Is this the end or beginning?
How can I understand?

“So you’ve brought me the latest Yellow Book:
And Buchan has got in it now:
Approval of what is approved of
Is as false as a well-kept vow.

“More hock, Robbie — where is the seltzer?
Dear boy, pull again at the bell!
They are all little better than cretins,
Though this is the Cadogan Hotel.

“One astrakhan coat is at Willis’s —
Another one’s at the Savoy:
Do fetch my morocco portmanteau,
And bring them on later, dear boy.”

A thump, and a murmur of voices —
(”Oh why must they make such a din?”)
As the door of the bedroom swung open
And TWO PLAIN CLOTHES POLICEMEN came in:

“Mr. Woilde, we ‘ave come for tew take yew
Where felons and criminals dwell:
We must ask yew tew leave with us quoietly
For this is the Cadogan Hotel.”

He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book.
He staggered — and, terrible-eyed,
He brushed past the plants on the staircase
And was helped to a hansom outside.

William Barnes - poet

Now, you've probably gathered that I love poetry. Well, I've just been introduced for a poet totally new to me. His name is William Barnes and he wrote in the Dorset vernacular. Despite that, his poems of rural life are emminently readable. I particularly like this one, which reminds me of my father so much. There's a statue of Barnes' Dorset Shepherd in Durngate Street in Dorchester, and very good it is too.

THE SHEPHERD O’ THE FARM.

Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep-dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.

An’ I do bide all day among
 The bleäten sheep, an’ pitch their vwold;
An’ when the evenèn sheädes be long.
 Do zee em all a-penn’d an’ twold.

An’ I do zee the friskèn lam’s,
 Wi’ swingèn taïls an’ woolly lags,
A-playèn roun’ their veedèn dams,
 An’ pullèn o’ their milky bags.

An’ I bezide a hawthorn tree,
 Do’ zit upon the zunny down.
While sheädes o’ zummer clouds do vlee
 Wi’ silent flight along the groun’.

An’ there, among the many cries
 O’ sheep an’ lambs, my dog do pass
A zultry hour, wi’ blinkèn eyes,
 An’ nose a-stratch’d upon the grass;

But, in a twinklèn, at my word,
 He’s all awake, an’ up, an’ gone
Out roun’ the sheep lik’ any bird,
 To do what he’s a-zent upon.

An’ I do goo to washèn pool,
 A-sousèn over head an’ ears,
The shaggy sheep, to cleän their wool
 An’ meäke em ready vor the sheärs.

An’ when the shearèn time do come,
 Then we do work vrom dawn till dark;
Where zome do shear the sheep, and zome
 Do mark their zides wi’ meästers mark.

An’ when the shearèn’s all a-done,
 Then we do eat, an’ drink, an’ zing,
In meäster’s kitchen till the tun
 Wi’ merry sounds do sheäke an’ ring.

Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.

Annual Garage Update

Can't quite remember when I last did an update on our garage, but I think possibly only 1 machine has changed since then.  Dick eventually admitted that his days of riding heavtweight bikes like the CrossRunner have come to an end. His age, and the state of his foot means he has gone back to a CB500X. This will be the third one he's had, and the latest variant has considerable improvements over the previous versions. Only time will tell if he keeps it.............

Meanwhile, I'm still loving my 650. It really is the closest thing to my old Hornet that I've ridden since. It's a little heavier than I would like, but as long as it's manageable, I'll ride it. All we need now is permission to ride it further than I have been doing lately............

One thing I have had to buy for it, is a new tankbag. I've had a little Oxford one (my equivalent of a ladies' handbag) for the best part of 30 years, and it has finally given up the ghost. Dread to think how many hundreds of miles that little bag has done. I've used it everday, and it has been all over the country on countless petrol tanks. I've got a new Honda one on order. Let's hope it lasts as well. If it does, it will probably outlast me!

Back to the garage - the two little bikes remain the same. There really is no need to change either of them. Twinkle, our little CB125F, is the perfect tool for running around town, doing shopping and running errands, and is the perfect companion for Chunky Munky for those days in the sun when all you want to do is run around the country lanes and enjoy the peace and quiet of the countryside

Incidentally, that picture was taken in the centre of Hamstreet. Just out of the picture is a cannonball. Why, I hear you ask? Well, Hamstreet is twinned with the little town of Therouanne in France. Therouanne was once a city with a cathedral which was sacked by the troops of Henry V. The stone cannonball was a gift from the mayor of the twin town, presented with the words 'You can have your cannonball back!

So, there you are - an update on my garage and a history lesson combined! Aren't you lucky!

Spike Milligan

So, today is the anniversary of the death of the greatest comedian ever to grace these shores with his presence. Let us celebrate him with a quote from 'Puckoon', one of the funniest books ever written..........."Well, he thought, you can fool some of the people all the time and all the people some of the time, which is just long enough to be President of the United States"

As one of my friends said, 'Long may he rest in peace. It must be pure chaos where ever he is now.'

Aberfan

Today is the anniversary of the day a village in South Wales died. I'm not going to write about it here, because if you don't already know about it, you can Google it. I'm just going to post a small poem that echoes what I remember feeling at the time, and which, for me, was another nail in the coffin of faith beliefs.

written in 1966 by local poet, Ron Cook.

Where was God that fateful day
At the place called Aberfan.
When the world stood still and the mountain
Moved through the folly of mortal man.
In the morning hush so cold and stark
And grey skys overhead.
When the mountain moved its awesome mass
To leave generations of dead.
Where was God the people cried
Their features grim and bleak.
Somewhere on their knees in prayer
And many could not speak.
The silence so still like something unreal
Hung on the morning air.
And people muttered in whisper tones
Oh God this isn’t fair.
The utter waste of childhood dreams
Of hope and aspirations.
A bitter lesson to be learnt for future generations

But where was God the people cried.
The reason none could say
For when the mountain moved its awesome mass.
God looked the other way.

Friends. friendship, and the internet

We often take it for granted, but the internet is an amazing thing. And so is making friends for a lifetime. Just sometimes, you make a good friend over the internet, from the other side of the world. You may never ever meet, but you know that person would be there for you if you were in trouble. It started with my bike forum, and has lasted almost twenty years. I've 'watched' his three daughters grow into beautiful young women, and shared the highs and lows of his job climbing telegraph poles in the outback

Over the years, I've made many friends through my love of motorcycles - shared interest and all that. But I've made many, very good friends, through using forums and social media on the internet. Strangely though, some of the closest have been with people from my husband's forums, rather than my own.

Sure, I've made a lot of long-term friendships via the Hornet's Nest, and a lot of them, I do know personally. Some, I have never met, and are never likely to. One of the sweetest people I know, is from a forum dedicated to a bike that I don't even like! Fortunately, he doesn't live too far away, so we do get to see him on a reasonably frequent basis.

Through the same forum, we made friends with a couple from Germany, who ended up coming to stay with us last summer. Complete strangers when they arrived, they left as good friends.

Then there was the gentleman from Texas. When my husband had a bad accident, and it looked for a while as though he might lose a foot, let alone never be able to ride a motorcycle again, he naturally suffered from very bad depression. This particular friend, took time out from his busy life to phone Dick in hospital - a phone call that lasted a good half hour, and completely lifted his spirits.

Friends like these are hard to come by, and should be cherished above all things. Yes, you may never meet, but they are every bit as precious as the person next door, or down the road

And infinitely more precious than some family